


Whom Hunger Drives

by rosekay



Category: Grimm (TV), His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Daemons, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-28
Updated: 2011-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-28 08:09:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/305724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosekay/pseuds/rosekay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grimm/HDM fusion. Roddy Geiger is talented, but the exclusive institution he attends closes plenty of doors to him because of his humble origins. Two mysterious visitors change everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whom Hunger Drives

"I heard he's a _witch_ ," Marvin said significantly. He was going to ruin the horsehair on his bow if he kept sawing at it with the rosin like that.

"Don't be ridiculous," Sarah said. "He's a _he_ , not to mention Lady Marie's nephew."

"They say he sends his daemon everywhere! A huge wolf that could eat any of us!"

"Daemons do not eat people, you idiot. And it's not even a bird!" That was Trey, peeping at them seriously over his glasses. He held the curve of his cello like it was a woman resting against one knee.

The door snapped open, and Professor Lawson descended on them in a swoop of tight mouth and ill temper. Camille cowed in Roddy's pocket, her little nose twitching.

"Oh, I hate him when he's in a mood like this. This can't be good." He shushed her, but ran a nervous hand through his hair nevertheless. He could see Marvin shading a disgusted look over and fought to keep the anger down. That talentless hacks like Marvin and Trey should look down on Camille because of the humble form she took was almost more than he could bear. Trey's sleek little minx curled haughtily around his neck and Marvin's Judith bared her teeth at Camille.

"Mr. Geiger," Professor Lawson said in his sonorous tones, "I regret to inform you that Mr. Brimley will take your place at the gala."

 _Carter_ , with the way he looked at Sarah, and how he threw around money like it was nothing. He was the worst of them all, and a terror on the violin. He couldn't even make it through the easy slide of the melodic motif, much less the tricky little syncopated phrases.

Camille trembled in his pocket. No fear in her though, no, just rage. Roddy slowly packed up his violin, running his fingers along the fine grain. Somehow, the weight of Sarah’s pity on his shoulders was worse than the disdain of the others.

*

"We can still sneak in," Camille scratched her way up his collar, tickling his neck, already hot from the stifling hallway. The performance had already started. He doubted, Roddy thought vengefully, that Carter had managed to refine his technique to anything close to what he would have delivered.

"Do you have any idea how much trouble we'd be in if Mistress Kaplan found out?"

"She doesn't have to find out, Roddy." Camille had a particular wheedling sort of tone that should not have been effective on him in any way, but his own curiosity was getting the best of him. "Come on, we can hide in the parlor. You know where."

It was true that Roddy knew the Institute better than all of the blue-bloods who'd never had to fight for a place here. Even with his scholarship, it was stretching his father's funds to the limit, but he loved it more than he ever thought it would, every graceful spire and grand room laid out for lords and ladies, the way each one was designed to lend warmth and majesty to the music they made. He loved the shabby practice rooms in the east wing, and the breathtaking view from the terrace off the west. He was proud of it in a way that was halfway to ownership. Though it was mostly a fanciful lie, it made him warm in his bones.

Sarah and Carter and the rest would only stay for another year or two before moving on to their tours and titles and whatever their parents would cede to them for a comfortable future. If Roddy were lucky, he might be taken in as an apprentice instructor, and find a home here. They would expect him to be grateful to spend the rest of his life performing like a monkey for nobility who wanted a break from politics. The part that truly ate at him was that they weren't wrong. his father's trade certainly would never give him room to play or compose. You’ll waste your talent away cleaning up shit, Professor Lawson had told him with brutal frankness during his interview. Roddy still couldn’t even find it in himself to be offended by the baldness of the judgment or the bleakness of his future, bowing and scraping to those who considered themselves above him. Better a monkey than a rat forever, he thought bitterly.

"Come on," Camille whispered, whiskers twitching against his ear. "We have to get in there before the thing's over."

They moved swiftly through the hallway that led around the recital hall. The anbaric lights had been dimmed for the evening occasion, replaced by torches for a more traditional presentation. He was so busy looking behind him to make sure that none of the staff were patrolling that he didn't notice Sarah until he was practically on top of her. She looked pale and pretty in a cream gown that set off her dark hair, her violin hanging loosely in one delicately gloved hand. Roddy was suddenly keenly aware of his own worn trousers and thread-tangled hat. He nodded at the faint strains of conversation coming from the hall, at her covered fingers.

"I thought you were on stage."

"Intermission." Sarah looked like she wanted to say more, her soft mouth unsettled. Roddy cut her off briskly.

"How is the witch looking?"

That got him a familiar eye roll that made her fancy dress irrelevant, just the two of them enjoying their music again.

"Handsome," she said, one corner of her mouth lifting charmingly. "No enchantments." She was radiant when she smiled. He let the moment hang a little longer than he should have.

"Good luck, Sarah."

He could feel her looking back at him as he brushed past, Camille huddled close.

*

The parlor was as richly arranged as he remembered, thick carpets that made walking hardly feel like an act at all, and portraits of the Institute's former Masters arranged all around. A dry-smelling red wine had been arranged already on a silver serving tray. Roddy headed straight for the coat closet, which extended towards the recital hall. He had to fight his way through several furs before he could press his ear to the backboard, the music echoing faintly but elegantly. It sounded like they had taken the stage, and Carter was murdering the melody, just as he'd known that he would. Camille said nothing, but curled small and warm in his hand, looking up at him with eyes bright with sympathy. He settled himself against the furs, cheek resting against dry wood, everything in him bitter to the taste.

He didn't realize he'd fallen asleep until he jerked awake to the sound of voices beyond the closet. Camille had twitched above his collar as well, little ears flicking. He listened against the wood--the music was still going--so who had come in early?

"A little disappointing, wouldn't you say, Monroe?"

Monroe. That was Lord Nicholas' daemon. "Oh," moaned Camille unhappily. "We'll be in so much trouble. What if he _eats_ me, Roddy?"

"Don't be silly," he hissed, pushing furs aside to move back towards the front of the closet. The door was open just a sliver, and he could see the sitting Lord Grimm on one knee, a pale, elegant hand ruffling the fur about his daemon's ears. Monroe was as big as Marvin had said, but not barrel-chested like some of the bigger dog daemons that Roddy had seen. Instead he was rangy and lean, big paws sinking into the plush carpet and fearsome teeth on display. Lord Nicholas bent slightly, and his daemon gave him a playful lick up the column of his neck. Roddy didn't know why this very prosaic gesture should have made any difference, but the not-witch suddenly seemed a little younger, a faint smile tugging at his mouth, his dark hair not quite properly arranged. He was as handsome as Sarah had said, rather carelessly so. Lady Marie choosing to pass on her seat while she still lived had been scandal enough; that she named to the title a young nephew who had seemingly sprung from nowhere was almost inconceivable. The Institute had been buzzing with the news for weeks, all the talk rising to a fever pitch when it was made known that the new Lord Grimm would be attending the yearly gala.

Then Monroe moved again, stretching up as if to rest his sizable paws on Lord Nicholas' shoulders, except he didn't just stretch, he _shifted._

"My God," said Camille, while Roddy stared, speechless.

Lord Nicholas' daemon had become a _man_. Roddy could see how the wolf's lean frame and big paws still lived in the man who uncurled himself to a rather great height. The rumors that swirled around the Grimms were certainly rife with absurdity, but surely they were not--they _had_ to have--

"Very disappointing. That little shit on violin didn't know what he was doing. I thought we were going to see the Geiger kid?"

Roddy started at the mention of his name.

"A political replacement, I think," Lord Grimm said, the disgust faint but evident in his voice.

"No Renard either. I think this is what you call a bust." Monroe was dressed much more poorly than his lord, but the sarcastic edge to his voice made it clear that this didn't mean any sort of deference.

"It's still early." Lord Nicholas’ voice was warm, and he moved a little closer, not seeming to mind the few inches that Monroe had on him. He brought one hand up to Monroe's bearded cheek, and pulled him in for a kiss. It was a chaste brush that quickly became hot, the two of them fighting for dominance, heads angled, and knuckles white on each other's bodies. Roddy thought he might faint. If Monroe wasn't a daemon--there appeared to be no one else in the room--no daemons for either of them, a _Grimm_ and his--

Monroe jerked his head suddenly, as if he were sniffing the air. Lord Nicholas looked a question.

"Someone's in here."

Roddy's heart felt like it thumped all the way to his feet as Camille dove back under his collar, trembling.

He couldn't help the small whine of terror that escaped his throat when Monroe threw the closet door open and dragged him out so he sprawled on the carpet. He hardly dared lift his cheek from the softness to look at them. It was a gentle gloved finger under his chin that directed his gaze up to Lord Nicholas' still shockingly young face. He'd always supposed the Grimms to have grown into craggy terrors like Lady Marie before they were even allowed to take up the mantle.

He was dressed neatly but simply in a beautifully tailored black suit that Roddy would have never been able to afford, but there were no affectations, nothing dandyish about him. Monroe looked perfectly at ease in his considerably rougher threads, the snarl that made his brows heavy with something not quite human a compelling argument for Roddy to continue cowering on the ground. It was what came out of his mouth when he got a good look at Roddy's face that was a pure shock.

"Are you the _Geiger_ kid?"

Then he was being dragged to his feet, his hand being vigorously pumped.

"I saw you at the Hill Tavern a few weeks ago. _Beautiful_ execution." Monroe sounded almost, well, bubbly. It was disconcerting.

"The H-Hill Tavern? But that's no place for a--"

"I play a little cello myself," Monroe continued blithely.

"Not very well," Lord Nicholas interjected, dry as dust, which got him a glare. "Mr. Geiger, I'm guessing you have some questions."

He couldn't quite gather his words together to sum it up in any meaningful way.

"We don't have daemons," Lord Nicholas said easily. "You aren't hallucinating and it isn't impudent to say so." The last part seemed intended for Monroe, who snapped his mouth shut grumpily. "Tell me, Mr. Geiger, have you heard of other worlds?"

Other _worlds_?

"So you are a witch," Roddy said without thinking, and flushed immediately, feeling foolish. This drew laughter from both of them.

"Is that what people have been saying?" Lord Nicholas asked, clearly amused.

He could only nod in response.

"Well I'm not some bird," Monroe said, jaw changing just ever so much. "I have _teeth_ for one." And how very large they were, thought Roddy, quaking inside.

"Don't frighten the kid."

"L-Lord Nicholas, I--"

"Nick," he said firmly.

"Nick," Roddy tested it out, feeling uncomfortable still. "I'm so sorry--I won't tell--"

"You're _right_ ," Monroe leaned forward. "You won't tell _anyone_ about what you just saw or I might go back to the old ways and--"

"Monroe," Nick dropped the name like a staccato beat. He turned to Roddy. "Look, Mr. Geiger, it's very important that you don't share anything about tonight. You could say the world depends on it." This last part seemed to amuse him, because he smiled very slightly as he said it. _Are you monsters_? Roddy couldn't help thinking in terror. Was he going to die?

Monroe took his jaw in one large hand, not ungentle, but the way you'd handle a disobedient dog. "Look, kid, we come from the other side. Our daemons are," he thumped his chest where his heart was, "in here."

"Why are you _here_?" Roddy couldn't help asking. Daemons that lived inside your heart? It was blasphemous.

"Because there's about to be a war," Nick said, his eyes a little darker now. "And we have a job. We came here looking for you, actually, because you have a gift."

The Institute had accepted him because of the way he handled wood and horsehair and living music, because even the most conservative of them couldn't deny his talent, but they saw him as his instrument, he knew that. Nick's eyes were focused on _him_ , it seemed, and him alone. It was an unexpectedly warm feeling, to be wanted.

"You're neck deep in this already, kid," Monroe crossed his arms. "You want in?"

He felt frozen, Camille warm against his neck, afraid to speak, but he could feel her excitement pulsing against his own. A war. With the sitting Grimm involved. It would be no small thing, not a little concert to amuse the blue-bloods, but something larger even than the Institute. He was sure enough of that.

"Roddy," said Nick gently, "are you with us?" Monroe loomed over his shoulder.

He had never set any store in the arbitrary customs of the quality, who had scorned him at virtually every turn, but nothing in his life had felt more right than this. He went to one knee, shaking only a little.

"I'm yours, Lord Grimm."

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the grimm_kink prompt requesting the crossover. Thank you very much for the feedback there. Title from a different part of _Paradise Lost._


End file.
